


lingering dreams

by virtchandmoir



Series: with you, i am whole. [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Concerned Steve Rogers, F/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Nightmares, One Shot, Worried Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 06:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20205280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtchandmoir/pseuds/virtchandmoir
Summary: prompt: "Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore."***She tossed.She turned.Her past comes haunting her.





	lingering dreams

**Author's Note:**

> i had written some parts of this as a part of another fic years ago. i figured that i'd reuse some parts of it.
> 
> i hope you enjoy this and don't forget to leave kudos and comments if you'd like to see more from me!

She tossed.

She turned.

Her past comes haunting her.

_Your very first mission, Natalia. Remember? July 12th, 1942. Russia. You were 16._

_Natalia, your past cannot be hidden._

"The timetable has changed. Our window is limited. One target at level 7," a man told her, the first man on her hit list, "I want confirmed death in 10 hours."

* * *

Several hours later, she landed in Paris. Jeremy Lassen, that was her target.

Walking into the bar, she quickly assessed her surroundings. Drunk men, stripped girls. She got in a revealing red dress, backless, deep V, 6 inches high heels. Typical Black Widow style – she wore red and black all the time – represented her the most, she also looks deadly beautiful in these colors. They don’t know she wears a holster though, holding two knives. Her hairpin is technically a syringe filled with toxic poison.

Her target loved women, too much.

He probably didn't realize one of them would be the death of him. Literally speaking.

Approaching him, she caught the rhythm of the music in the bar. Holding up her glass of wine and swaying her hips, she moved closer and closer toward him. That obviously caught his eyes. He eyed her body, like most men in the club, did. Some even looked like they would break their necks just for one more look.

He walked to her, still eyeing lustfully, "Having a nice time, eh?" he said, holding her waist, too tight for her liking, gently mumbled at her neck, "May I take you to a place, hm, more private?"

She said no more and followed him to his hotel room.

* * *

As he pushed her, roughly, onto the king-sized bed, he almost ripped off her dress. Almost. He must've felt a sharp pain shot through his body. She looked at him venomously, as he looked down at her, brown eyes meeting green ones. Blood was sheeting down, and a knife was stuck firmly in his gut.

Horror filled his eyes when she stabbed him. And the look on his face. His eyes were staring right into her soul, and kept on asking her the same question: "Why me? What did I do?".

Guess the guns and silencers weren't necessary anyway.

Blood was oozing out, staining his plain white business shirt. He was choking on his own blood, unable to speak, struggling to breathe. He muffled a bit and opened up his mouth for air. Instead, more blood was coughed out. The warm, slick red liquid was slowly flowing down her body and tinting her dress. She kept on holding tight to the hilt until she saw the light of life fade in his eyes.

_You drive it through their heart to the hilt. You look into their eyes and do not pull it out until you see their soul._ That's what they told her when she first learned to kill a man.

"Shh. It's worse if you try to fight it," she murmured in his lips, exhaling warm breaths, itching the dying man, "Trust me."

He twitched for a bit but eventually gave in. And there he was, lying still on the bed. Complete still.

She could faintly hear the birds’ song on the trees as if they were singing a requiem for the dead.

_At least he has them to send him off._

Natalia got off the bed, zipped up her half-fallen dress (a good thing that in such a shade of red that the color of blood blend right in), wiped the blood off her hands with disgust, slightly touched up her makeup and wore her heels.

Then she left the room the way she came in, waltzed her way back downstairs and waited for extraction.

* * *

She must’ve been wrestling with someone because she could feel her hands bound. She wanted to open her eyes so badly, but she just couldn’t. She needed to be wakened up from this bad dream, but she just couldn’t.

“Nat!” someone’s yelling her name. “Nat, you’ve gotta wake up! It’s just a dream! _Wake up!_”

Natasha shot up from her bed, sweating and panting. Her eyes shot to the owners of the hands that held hers.

It’s Steve.

She breathed out a sigh of relief, shakily. Natasha could feel the water filling her eyes, but she shook her head as if that would make them go away.

“Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore,” Steve whispered to her, his baby blue eyes stared right into her emerald ones. “They _can’t_ hurt you anymore. We won’t let them. _I_ won’t let them.”

Natasha turned her head away as she let the tears fall, silently.

He gently pulled her into his embrace, a place where she had gotten so used to and was able to feel so secure, a shelter for her when she’s haunted by those bloody memories she had of her past.

“Breath with me,” he encouraged her. “Just like that. Feel my heartbeat. In, out… and in, out…”

Her sole focus had been on the steady, rhythmic and loud bounds of his heart against his rib cage. She closed her eyes. Her fingers locked on his shirt, his warmth comforting and calming her down as she followed his instructions and his voice, honey-smooth, lulling her back asleep.

_In… Out… In… Out… In… Out…_

Her breaths slowly evened out.

* * *

Steve cradled Natasha as she gradually fell back asleep. Her fists balled up and clenched his shirt so tightly that he could not pry them off. She was holding on to him for dear life.

His heart aches when he saw her like that when he gazed into her usually bright and cheerful eyes, a pair of broken and empty irises looked back. She was distraught.

What’s more worrying, however, was not the panic attacks and the nightmares that seemed to be lingering and never over, it was the frequency of them.

Natasha had been like this, much more sensitive and on edge than he’d seen her for the past couple of years, hell, even when they started sleeping together and dating, these past months.

Someone, something was bothering her, plaguing her even in her dreams.

But for now, he would keep his worries to himself and be that constant and sturdy anchor he had always been amidst typhoons and storms for her.

Steve shut his eyes, clutching her securely against his chest, and drifted off.


End file.
